Forgetting
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Klavier isn't quite asleep when he hears Apollo take a breath. That in itself is not noteworthy, or wouldn't be except that there's a catch under the inhale, a damp tone that Klavier recognizes." Apollo wakes Klavier up, and Klavier answers a question. Part 3 and final of the Apologies series.


Klavier isn't quite asleep when he hears Apollo take a breath. That in itself is not noteworthy, or wouldn't be except that there's a catch under the inhale, a damp tone that Klavier recognizes, although he rarely hears it from someone else. He's fully awake immediately, although he doesn't move for a moment, just listens to the other try to repress his tears through force of will until Klavier has to move or start crying himself.

He rolls over and reaches for Apollo in one motion, so his arm is around the other's waist before Apollo has had time to voice either protest or apology for waking the blond. This close Klavier can feel the tension in Apollo's shoulders, the uncontrollable shake when the other tries to choke back tears rather than letting them free of his throat.

Klavier shuts his eyes, presses his chin in against the top of Apollo's head. "It's okay," he says, softly enough that the words are almost lost in another hiccuping inhale from the other. "It's okay, there's no one here but me."

The tension along Apollo's spine doesn't give way to relaxation - Klavier didn't really expect it to, not right away - but after a breath the attorney's hand comes up, his fingers catch around Klavier's wrist and squeeze tight as if he's holding himself in place by the point of contact.

Apollo takes a breath and Klavier speaks without opening his eyes. "You had better not apologize for waking me, Herr Forehead."

There is a brief moment of perfect silence that tells Klavier he guessed exactly right, and then the payback of a laugh from Apollo. It's short and choked but it's definitely a laugh, and when Apollo sighs some of the strain under his skin leaves along with the exhale. Klavier smiles, pulls in a little harder so Apollo's back settles in against his chest, and waits for the other to talk.

It takes longer than he expects. Apollo keeps drawing in a breath like he's bracing himself, then letting it all out in a huff as he loses his nerve. Klavier isn't likely to fall back asleep and he's comfortable, at least, so he stays quiet and lets the other think.

It's not what he expects, in the end. Apollo doesn't take a breath, doesn't steel himself to speak; he just inhales, sighs, and when he speaks his voice is softer than Klavier has ever heard it before.

"Does it get easier?"

There's no context, and for a moment Klavier is entirely lost. Then late-night intuition kicks in, his mind observes the sympathetic tightness in his own throat and suggests a name, the face Klavier can't ever escape, the features echoed in his mirror every morning.

"No." He sounds hoarse but doesn't make any attempt to smooth his voice into its usual richness. "Not really."

"How do you _stand_ it?" Apollo sounds lost, adrift in a way that brings the threat of tears into fulfillment so Klavier has to take a moment to swallow before he can speak coherently at all.

"You forget." He clears his throat. "Sometimes. You forget to ache all the time. It still hurts, it always hurts, but you can work around it."

"I don't want to forget," Apollo protests weakly.

Klavier presses his forehead against the softness of Apollo's hair. "I know. You won't. Not really."

Apollo takes a breath, shaky and stuttering, and Klavier traces soothing circles over the other's skin. The attorney sighs, heavy and exhausted, and when he says, "I don't want to be sad anymore," it's plaintive and pained.

Klavier slides forward, presses in against Apollo's back as if he can absorb the other's hurt through sheer proximity. "I don't want you to be sad either," he says into Apollo's hair. He can hear the other crying, though the attorney is doing his best to muffle the sound, but after a moment the fingers still clutching at Klavier's wrist loosen, Apollo's thumb slides in against Klavier's skin in echo of the blond's touch, and Klavier lets out a breath and lets himself think that maybe they'll be okay.

Klavier doesn't think either of them will get to sleep, but when Apollo's alarm goes off the next morning it jolts him from a dream that turns out to be closer to reality than otherwise. It takes some maneuvering to turn off Apollo's phone without actually moving from his position pressed in against the attorney's back, but the other must be exhausted; he barely moves through the process, only humming and shifting backwards against Klavier when the blond drops back to the bed to return to sleep. Klavier smiles at the back of the other's head, resettles his arm around Apollo's waist, and lets himself slide back down to unconsciousness, to sleep through the day if they can't manage the night.


End file.
